Quote, Unquote by Sublyme Diagonal

I crouch in the ferns, raindrops dripping down on me through the canopy. The undergrowth crepitates with millipedes mating. I start to feel a familiar buzz, a clenching of the jaw, a grinding of the teeth, then my vision blurs and my eyelids half close. As I wait for things to unfold, I summon the minutes G35 has shared with me, while I absent-mindedly fondle myself through the hole I have cut in my right-hand pocket. At first glance, they seem relatively standard: place, date, names of those present, proxied or absent, determination of a quorum, start time, decisions recorded, end time.

While I read the minutes, I watch G35 stomping back and forth in front of the Gate, waving his arms about and talking to himself. To be honest, if I didn’t know him better, I’d have him committed. I start to wonder if this is really a good idea, what am I doing here, have I ever done this before, does it make any sense. A shiver cuts my doubts short. I decide to summon an annexe to numb my escalating mind.

Suddenly, G35 is standing there, right in front of me (I hadn’t seen him move). He’s trying to tell me something. I don’t understand. But slowly, his rant falls into place. Whoever he was meant to be meeting isn’t coming. This conclusion takes his already hyperventilating state one step closer to meltdown. I'm not sure what he's going on about, but he keeps talking about “an accident that isn’t one”. I tell him to calm down.

He storms off. I stand up, fall down, get back up and stagger off after him. I try to keep up. He's always at least four steps ahead, so I occasionally have to jog to try and catch up. The annexe I summoned keeps coming back to provide me with guidance. It insists that any reference set is unlikely to cater to all of my needs. My collapsing condition doesn’t help either. I keep tripping over my own feet. I nonetheless manage to notice we seem to be headed to the hospital, admissions. I yell after him to slow down. He doesn’t. I give up when he rounds the corner and I shuffle on towards admissions at a more leisurely pace.

Admissions are a prominent structure. They provide access to the hospital. They’re lined with a membrane to treat incoming elements and filter out (and cleanse themselves of) any undesirables that may have wandered in from the outside. A small segment of the lining contains bots. These bots project tendrils into the hallway, groping any incomers and smearing them with a fluid that dissolves particles sampled from their surface. These particles stimulate the central processing unit, allowing it to use statistical data to identify the nature of the incoming elements and protocol to determine what course of action is most appropriate.

By the time I make it to the desk, G35 is entangled in tendrils and (repeatedly) requesting assistance. I lean against the opposite wall, feel myself fondled and fingered, and slowly phase out. Apparently, there are tensions on the Nuna Vut frontier, an officially demilitarized zone. The audio is distorted. Saka’s foreign minister has declared his country’s unwavering support to its ally, Bonto, in what it sees as a blatant breach of sovereignty. The Tight and Pohjamaade Uhendriigid are siding with Tule. The possibility of sanctions has been floated. The Neue Hanse has expressed its concern and asks all parties to sit down and use every diplomatic option available to address the contentious issues.

I come round to the sounds of Code Blue in Sector 19. G35 is shouting. He says that he knows, that he knows what they’re doing, his voice is breaking. I try to say something to him, but my mouth is moving at a slower pace than its environment. I hear his screams from afar. They keep moving in and out of focus. I'm struggling, jerking my knees up against the pull of gravity, the attraction of the floor, forcing my eyes to blink open. At the same time, I’m told the northern districts have seen more rioting this week between the Dangumi Aptrauktas and the Balta Apranga. Personally, I’ve never been able to tell the difference between the two, apart from the attire naturally, but the difference seems important enough for them to make the matter an issue. Another shiver. Bruxism. More static.

G35 has stopped shouting and is now feigning defecation. He gives me a wink and mentions sharing a pair of dirty gloves with his brother. I didn’t know he had one. Earlier today, a member of the Unsure Kamikaze, a splinter faction from the Agnostic Revolutionary Council, blew themself up at an Evangelical Self-improvement Afterwork Presentation. A spokesperson for the organisation has issued a press release explaining that the objective was to demonstrate that they too are capable of making a quote-unquote strong statement. The authorities will do everything in their power to find the culprits and bring them to justice.

Segments of the walls slide down and slowly unfold into an odd number of security bots. They surround G35, extend their appendages, lock, torque and tighten, progressively trapping G (kicking and screaming) in the process. When he’s completely bound and restrained, that’s when they begin to taser him. They taser him until he starts to convulse. He stops screaming. The segments then finish merging in silence. When they’ve finished, all that's left is a large, metallic pod and the smell of static. I carelessly stare at the tendrils that reach for the pod. They girdle it, drag it across the floor and feed it to one of the pouches located in the walls, to be stored (and treated) prior to extraction. The lips of the pouch close and heal up with a soft sucking sound, as the tendrils retract back into the walls that spawned them.

The weather for tomorrow should be tepid and wet, in line with seasonal averages. The low-pressure system we’re experiencing is driven by hot winds from the south, pushed north by the seasonal hurricanes between the Tropics.

Some people drink, some collect stamps,
some prefer gardening or cross-dressing. This is our thing. This is our two-word gesture
to life as a statistic. In case of anxiety, just infuse longer.

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